2025-05-08 20:39:57The clubhouse roared with life. Music blasted from every corner, drinks flowed like rivers, and laughter bounced off the glass walls. Rickon sat at the center of it all, legs sprawled and arms wide, as if the entire party existed solely for his amusement. He didn’t care much for the noise or the chaos—what mattered was that the ladies adored him. Every flirtatious glance, every giggle aimed his way fueled his already inflated ego.
And Beauty, ever the drama queen, was livestreaming the entire event, pouting into her camera as she called him “Zaddy Rickon.”
Rickon grinned like a devil in velvet. This was his realm, his world, and the crowd fed off his presence like moths to a flame.
When he was buzzed enough to feel invincible, he clapped loudly, silencing the music for a moment. “Yo, Chance!” he called, his voice slurred slightly. “You bring anything for my girl, Chloe? Don’t tell me you showed up here empty-handed to just feed off her like the charity case you are.”
Chloe, standing close to the bar in her sequined silver dress, stiffened at the mention of her name. She didn’t appreciate being called “his girl” or the way he was speaking to Chance, but she had to admit—Rickon had paid for everything. The private clubhouse, the open bar, the decorations, even the over-the-top six-tier cake with her face printed on it. It wasn’t how she imagined celebrating her birthday, but it was... extravagant. Unforgettable. So she had to play the perfect hostess.
She looked at Chance, her expression hopeful yet guarded. Surely he'd not come empty-handed. He was too thoughtful for that. A gadget, maybe? A gift card? She knew Chance had never been flashy.
“Let’s see what Mr. Modest brought,” someone chuckled.
Vinita, leaning against the backrest with her wine glass tilted, smirked. “Well, Chance gave me the cheapest box of chocolates I've ever seen for my birthday—and we were dating then,” she said pointedly. “I wonder what a ‘just friend’ gets?”
The group erupted in laughter. Chloe winced.
Chance didn’t respond to their jeers. He walked over to her calmly, holding a sleek black gift bag with the signature gold “LV” seal embossed at the front. He offered it to her without flourish, just a quiet, “Happy birthday, Chloe.”
Chloe opened the bag and pulled out a stunning black purse—sleek, structured, and unfamiliar. It was beautiful, no doubt, but not something anyone had seen before. Murmurs started.
“What kind of LV is that?”
“Wait... is that real?”
Rickon narrowed his eyes. He didn't like that the buzz was shifting to Chance. He stood and sauntered over, reaching for the bag like a hawk circling prey. Chloe hesitated, but he snatched it from her hands with a mock-charming grin. “Mind if I take a closer look, princess?”
He turned it over, examined the stitching, the gold hardware, and the subtle pattern woven into the leather.
Then he stilled.
“This... this is the Louis Vuitton Black Widow,” Rickon announced. “It’s a one-of-a-kind design. Only one ever made. It was auctioned tonight at a private collector's event. A very private event—only twenty people were invited.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Chance watched him with a quiet smile, hands folded behind his back. He didn’t have to say a word— Rickon was confirming the truth for him.
“Wait, wait,” someone said. “How do you know all that, Rickon?”
Rickon rolled his eyes. “Because my mother was at that auction. She was the one who almost got it. Lost the bid to some crazy billionaire who paid three million dollars for it.”
A stunned silence fell.
Everyone turned to Chance. He was suddenly the topic of the night. Girls were already plotting how to sidle up to him.
“You bought that?” Jessica asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a $3 million bag.”
Rickon scoffed. “Please. Chance? Don’t make me laugh.”
But the murmurs had already begun.
“Did he steal it?”
“No way, he doesn't look like someone with that kind of money.”
“Maybe he’s like those secret billionaire characters on Meganovel... you know, hidden identity, fake poverty, all that jazz.”
Rickon paled.
He couldn’t let that narrative take root.
He laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “Y’all think he bought that bag? Come on now! You really think Chance is some mystery billionaire? Maybe next you’ll say he owns half the country and just ‘forgot’ to mention it!”
The crowd laughed nervously.
Rickon pressed on. “The bidding started at two hundred grand. Only people who had pre-approved bank guarantees could participate. My mom had to back out because the buyer went nuclear with the price. Three million. Three. Million. You think this guy has three million to spend on a purse?”
More laughter. This time, crueler.
Rickon’s grin sharpened. “He probably bought a replica. You can get high-grade copies from China for, like... a thousand bucks max. Heck, some of them even come with fake certificates and QR codes.”
The energy shifted.
Suddenly, the awe turned to suspicion.
“Wait, are you saying it’s fake?” one of the girls asked.
“Imagine that.” Rickon said smugly. “You guys know how we run things here—either the real deal or no deal at all.”
“Either the real deal or no deal at all!” The room echoed in drunken agreement.
Chloe’s brows furrowed. She looked at Chance, silently asking for confirmation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Rickon cut in.
“Hopefully Julia Franklin becomes the next president; people like you—counterfeit supporters, fraud enablers—be sure, you'll be standing behind bars.”
Boos filled the room. Someone threw a napkin. A few girls hissed and muttered about wasted beauty. Chloe stepped forward, trying to salvage the moment, but it was too late.
Chance felt anger ripple through him. But he didn't let it show. He didn’t have to. He nodded slowly. “Happy birthday, Chloe,” he said softly. Then he turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music that started up again.
Rickon raised his glass, grinning. “To real class.”
But Chloe didn’t smile. Her hands clutched the bag to her chest, her gaze fixed on the door Chance had just walked through.
Something about this didn’t sit right.
And somewhere deep in her gut, she knew the bag was real. Knew Chance had done something insane, something reckless—but not fake.
Never ever fake.
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Chapter 121
The night was heavy, the kind of silence that pressed down on Chance’s chest even as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep did not come easily—not after the week of grief, of arguments, of impossible decisions clawing at his mind. But eventually, exhaustion dragged him under.And when it did, he found himself standing in a vast hall.The air was thick, ancient, humming with a resonance that seemed to seep into his bones. Dark marble stretched beneath his feet, polished to a perfect sheen yet cold as ice. Tall pillars, carved with symbols he couldn’t understand, rose up endlessly into shadows. There was no light source, and yet the entire place glowed faintly, eerily, as if alive.“Where am I?” Chance whispered, his own voice echoing too loudly in the cavernous hall.The answer came not in words at first but in sound—the rhythmic thump of approaching footsteps. They rang with the weight of inevitability, each step reverberating like a war drum.From the shadows, a figure emerged
Chapter 120
Roland Kwan didn’t waste time before calling for an emergency meeting with other key members of the O'Connor board. Within the hour, the heavy oak doors of the conference room closed behind a gathering of the company’s most influential decision-makers.Though the agenda hadn’t been circulated, the tension in the room was unmistakable. Secretaries hurried in and out, setting down documents and glasses of water, while the board members sat stiffly in their high-backed chairs, their eyes narrowing at Roland, and Harold who were more less the pioneers of the meeting.“Ladies and gentlemen,” Roland began. “Myself and Harold convened this meeting because there’s a matter too urgent to wait. Young Chance O’Connor has been making… moves. Independent moves.”He slid a file onto the polished table and tapped the cover. The members leaned forward as the details were revealed—the acquisition of Regal Motors.The silence broke almost immediately.“You’re saying,” one older member muttered, “that t
Chapter 119
Julia was seated at the edge of her bed, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, staring at nothing. She had hardly moved since morning as grief had suddenly become the weight pressing against her chest, with Philip’s silence only making it heavier. He hadn’t so much as looked at her properly in the last two days, shutting her out in his own grief, leaving her to bear both her sorrow and his coldness.And as if that wasn't enough, her recent argument with Chance over the $600 million to acquire Regal motors still lingered deep, making her wonder if this was just her paying for being too ambitious as a woman.The election results were still being challenged by Senator Norville and she wasn't even sure if it was worth it anymore.She was still in the maze of her thoughts when the sudden buzz of her phone startled her. It vibrated insistently against the surface of the nightstand. With a weary sigh, she reached for it, frowning when she saw the name on the caller ID.Roland Kwan.Julia’s
Chapter 118
Charles Bernard sat in the high-backed leather chair of his penthouse suite, one ankle crossed over the other. The entire Bernard Tower—named after his family—seemed to hum with life beneath him, yet inside the room it was quiet. Too quiet.On the glass table beside him, a Rolex ticked steadily. Each second that passed fed into his anticipation. His lips curled into a smug smile. The deadline was almost here. Chloe Martins had less than three hours left. By nightfall, Regal Motors would belong to him, and the Bernards’ chokehold on the automobile industry would tighten until even the O’Connors would be forced to kneel.His coming back from overseas to take over the Bernard's chain of businesses as the eldest son was to make it clear to the entire business community that the Bernards could match up with the O' Connors and he was determined to make it so.For too long, the O' Connor's name has been sung with too much praise. Every paper, every media outlet, every business summit kept s
Chapter 117
While Gary was still there trying to embrace this new reality, one of the members of the syndicate slid a dagger across the table until it came to rest in front of him. “What’s this for?” Gary asked, his brow furrowing.The woman leaned back in her chair, her lips curving in something between a smile and a challenge.“A choice. You take the oath, and you are one of us. The Stannis fight becomes your fight. Your mother’s vengeance becomes your duty. If you refuse… then you walk away, and we will never speak of this again. You return to your O’Connor step-family, to their lies, to their silences. But you will know, deep down, that you turned your back on Susan, your mother.”At that name—Susan—his heart lurched.Brenda, standing beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, unyielding. She leaned down, her voice sharp, vibrating with restrained fury.“Your mother deserved a son who would stand for her. A son who would not be blind to Philip’s betrayal. Gary, be that son
Chapter 116
Chance hadn’t slept more than a handful of restless hours. His bed had felt like stone, the silence of the night too loud, pressing down on him. Every time his eyes fluttered shut, the same images replayed—Julia’s face cold and unyielding across the kitchen counter, the sharp sound of porcelain cracking against wood, coffee spilling across the table like blood from a wound. And her words.We are mourning Gary, Chance. And the least you could do is respect that.Those words had burrowed into him, deeper than he’d admit, echoing in his skull until he could hardly think straight.Now, as he stood at the tall window of his study, the early morning light spilling over the perfectly manicured lawns, he pressed his forehead against the cold glass. Respect. That was what Julia demanded—respect for grief, for silence, for the dead.But what about the living?He could still see Chloe’s face from the night before. The faint tremble in her voice. The desperation she fought to hide, even as her wo
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